She scoffs. “I’d
love to say someone being bribed to have life-saving surgery is a shocker, but
after working in the ER for so long, I’m not easily shooketh.”

“Tell me about it.”
I glance around the emergency room. “What’s next for me?”

It’s been a slow
night at Anchor Ridge Memorial Hospital, and as much as that’s a good thing, it
can get boring.

She points down the
hall. “Exam room three. Five-year-old with a fever.” Her tone turns bubbly as
she wiggles her shoulders. “Dad is super
hot, by the way.”

I shake my head and
tap my knuckles against the triage desk. “I’ll let you know if I need
anything.”

“Ask him for his
number,” she half-whispers with a thumbs-up.

I roll my eyes and
dismissively wave my hand. “Absolutely not.”

“All work and no
play makes Jamie a grumpy doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
I spin on my heel and walk to the room.

The door is cracked,
and I knock, snatching a pair of latex gloves on my way in.

“Hello, I’m Dr.—” I
stop, stumble back two steps, and cover my mouth with my hand.

Holy crap.

My body tenses, and
as soon as my gaze meets his, his jaw flexes.

I struggle for words
as anger and disgust line his face.

Words I’d planned if this moment ever
happened.

Unfortunately, those words become a scared
bitch and run away.

“Cohen,” is all I
manage in a whisper.

He stands tall from
his chair, his narrowed eyes pinned to me, and moves to the side of the bed,
blocking my view of the patient.

Lauren’s words hit
me.

“Five-year-old …”

My attention slides
from Sir Pissed Off, and I shift to the left.

“Oh my God,” I
whisper, gaping at the little boy in the bed.

A little boy whose
eyes are sleepy and nose is red and irritated.

Those sleepy eyes, a
walnut-brown with a slight slant, match his father’s.

The same with his
thick ash-brown hair.

But the dimple in
his chin and heart-shaped face match hers.

“Is this …?” My
hand shakes when I point at him.

It’s a dumb question.

Even if he says no, he’ll be a liar.

“What are you doing
here?” he repeats, his tone harsh.

If I wasn’t at a
loss for words, my smart-ass self would throw out something along the lines of,What do you think, dumbass? I’m sporting
a doctor’s jacket with my name embroidered on it.

But I don’t.

Because I can’t.

It’s a challenge,
wrapping my head around them being here, let alone dragging out my sarcasm.

“I’m your doctor,” I
finally say before signaling to the boy. “I’m his doctor.”

Sound cool. Confident.

You’re the fucking professional here, Jamie.

“We want a different
doctor,” he hisses, his voice low enough so only I can hear.

“I’m the only doctor on shift tonight.” I’m
speaking to Cohen, but the boy holds my interest.

He’s watching this
exchange, his eyes pinging back and forth between his father and me with
curiosity on his tired face.

“We’ll go to another
hospital then.”

“Why, Dad?” the boy
whines, sniffling. “I don’t feel good, and what if I puke in the car?”

“I want another
doctor.” His broad shoulders draw back.

He raises a brow
when I hold up a finger, turn, and scurry out of the room.

I rush over to
Lauren. “Can you watch the boy in three for a minute? I need to talk to his
father privately.”

She peeks up at me
from her computer and tilts her head to the side. “Yeah … sure.”

Cohen is pacing the
room when we walk in. “A word,” I say, jerking my head toward the doorway.
Cohen’s attention darts to the boy, and he delivers a gentle smile. “I’ll be
right back, buddy.” He gives him a quick peck on the head and swings his arm
toward the door, his eyes cold. “After you, Your Highness.”

Lauren throws me a
curious glance when he walks past her, and I shrug as if this isn’t about to be
awkward city up in here.

As we leave, I hear
Lauren asking the boy what his favorite cartoon is.

Cohen keeps his
distance while I lead us into a private room, the one reserved for breaking bad
news to families.

I speak as soon as I
shut the door., “Cohen—”

Too bad he doesn’t
let me get more than his name out.

Rude.

His deep-set eyes
level on me. “This is a conflict of interest, Jamie. The nurse can help us. We
don’t need you.”

“We don’t need you.”

The memories of the
last time he said those words to me smack into me like a headache.

It was the last time
I saw him.

The last time he
looked at me with the same resentment.

Either he doesn’t
realize how hard his insult hit me or he doesn’t care.

“Wow.” I clench my
fists to hold myself back from smacking him in the face since his words are
like a slap in mine. “You have some nerve.”

It’d make for some bad headlines if a doctor
slapped a patient’s father.

There’s no apology
on his face when he holds up his hands. “Just saying it how I see it.”

“Then allow me to say it how I see it.” I thrust my finger
toward the door. “You have a sick son in there, and it’s my job to treat him. Don’t like it? I don’t give a shit.” I shove
past him, stalk out of the room, and don’t check to see if he’s following me.

“Everything okay?”
Lauren asks, her eyes glancing over my shoulder, and I realize Cohen is behind
me, still keeping his distance.

“Peachy,” I chirp
before approaching the bed and smiling down at the boy. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Noah,” he croaks.

Even though I was
sure it was him, my head spins at his confirmation.

I tenderly squeeze
his arm, and my tone turns cheerful. “Hi, Noah. I’m Dr. Gentry. Can I ask some
questions about how you’re feeling?”

He nods.

Cohen stalks to the
other side of the bed, his eyes on me, and Lauren migrates to the corner, her
nosy ass interested in this shitshow.

“He has a fever,”
Cohen tells me, his tone softer.

“For how long?”

He scratches his
scruffy cheek. “Over twenty-four hours.”

“Appetite?”

He shakes his head.
“Not even sugar. I can hardly get him to drink, and he has no energy, which is very rare for him.”

“Cough?”

“Yes.”

His jerk attitude
settles while we turn our attention to Noah. I ask question after question as I
take his temperature and go through all the motions.

“Symptoms tell me
it’s the flu,” I say, removing my gloves and tossing them into the trash.
“We’ll do a test, and I also want to run some blood work to make sure we’re not
missing anything.”

Cohen nods. “Thank
you.”

I smile at Noah.
“We’ll get you back to feeling good in no time.” I give Lauren, who’s gathering
supplies for the test, a head nod and leave the room.

I‘ll definitely be pairing wine with those
Thin Mints tonight.

Lauren comes
scurrying into the doctors’ lounge ten minutes later. “Whoa, what was that
about? Dude was super nice to me but acted as if you’d pissed in his Cheerios.”

Here goes.

A chill sweeps up my
neck. “That’s my sister’s ex … and her son … the ones she left.”

Charity Ferrell resides in Indianapolis, Indiana. She grew
up riding her bicycle to her library and reading anything she could get her
hands on. Angst is her happy place, and she loves writing about flawed people
finding love. She loves the basics—books, shoes, and online shopping.